


Fragments of Light and Dark

by the-reylo-void (Anysia)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Canonical Character Death, Dark Rey, Darkfic, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Humor, Lightsaber Battles, Mutual Pining, Organized Crime, Post-Canon, Prompt Fic, Redemption, Seduction to the Dark Side, Smuggler Ben Solo, Unrequited Lust, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-05 17:53:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11018520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anysia/pseuds/the-reylo-void
Summary: A collection of assorted Reylo Tumblr prompt fills across a variety of genres. Prompts are noted at the beginning of each "chapter".





	1. Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Rey's reaction to the scar

 

Rey hasn’t seen him in a year, but when she does, everything comes rushing back so easily, the rising roil of hatred in her chest, the acrid burn of _monster creature **beast**_ against her tongue, the dark, insistent push of his power at the edge of her thoughts.

 

Kylo Ren smiles at her, mask discarded, and his eyes are dark with promise and want in the steady red glow of his reconstructed lightsaber.

 

There’s a harsh, jagged scar slicing diagonally between his brows, curving over one cheek, and a dark, guilty thrill turns in Rey’s chest at the sight of it, the knowledge that it’s burned into him from her hand.

 

“Had a nasty fall, did you?” she asks, tone harsh and mocking as she gestures to the scar, raises her own saber (she’d had a knack for it, building her own, and she hears Master Luke’s faint praise at the back of her mind even as it fades, melds into his frantic warnings _you’re not ready to face him, don’t make the same mistake I made, please Rey…_ ).

 

Ren’s smile widens, darkens, and he swings his blade at her, seems unconcerned as she easily parries. “You’ll have your own soon enough, little scavenger.”

 

Their sabers crackle, press, and he’s close enough to kill, to kiss.

 

His eyes are wild, scar dark in the harsh light of their joined sabers, and as she falls back, prepares herself for the next stage of their dance, their pull together, she’s glad the scars he’s lain upon her are so much harder to see than those she’s given him.


	2. To Grow Old

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "To Grow Old"

Ben Solo had never expected to live this long. 

 

It had always been a foregone conclusion, really — the Skywalker line was forever one of tragedy. From the moment he’d donned his dark helm and turned away from the light, he’d known, somehow, that he would meet his death on the battlefield long before the first grey hairs sprouted at his temples. He would not live to see himself wizened and weak like Han Solo. He would find his end in the darkness, weapon in hand, power thrumming hot beneath his skin.

 

It still feels like failure to be here, from time to time. His world has faded to grey, darkness long forsaken but the light never quite within reach. He’s settled to something in between, and it still doesn’t entirely fit. 

 

And neither does she, the grey-robed woman approaching him with a familiar crook of a smile, familiar arms winding around his waist, familiar warmth and comfort he still doesn’t deserve, will never deserve.

 

“Your mother is asking of you again,” Rey says, and he holds her a fraction more tightly.

 

“My mother is still alive?”

 

“Yes.” 

 

She offers nothing more. His mother has never visited him here on this exiled planet in the Outer Rim. 

 

No one does, except her. 

 

“She wants you to come home,” Rey says quietly. She does not pull from his clinging embrace, and he is grateful for it. He’s missed her. He always misses her.

 

“I can’t.”

 

“You mean you won’t.” 

 

It’s an old argument, half-hearted now. His penance is incomplete, and so he remains, even as Rey takes his heart with her when she leaves.

 

“One day,” he murmurs, presses his cheek to her temple, and he marvels, even after all these years, that she allows him this, that he’s lived to see this. To see her. 


	3. The Olive Branch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "The Olive Branch"

They’re both breathing hard, shoulders heaving, backs slicked with rain and sabers humming in the space between them.

 

His scar is livid against the paleness of his skin. There’s a slow trickle of blood along her temple, her chin.

 

“ _Yield,”_ he says between gritted teeth, and the wind roars around them, the rain lashing hard. 

 

She rears back, spits in his face, locks her saber against his and leans into the hold.

 

“ _Rey.”_ It’s the first time he’s said her name, and he all but screams it, desperate, and she hesitates but does not falter. “Come with me and we can _end this.”_

 

The cliff is crumbling beneath them, shades of Starkiller, but he’s uninjured, unimpeded, and his strength matches hers, parries, and neither can gain the upper hand for more than a heartbeat.

 

“You could have men worship you,” he insists, and his eyes are pleading. “ _I_ would worship you.” 

 

“I don’t want to be _worshipped_ ,” she hisses, meets his gaze without flinching. 

 

His cheeks are wet, rain or tears, she can’t tell, but he’s _desperate_ , pressing into her. 

 

“I have orders to kill you,” he says, voice dark and low, “if you will not come with me willingly.” 

 

“ _You can try.”_

 

A strangled noise of frustration, and he shifts, moves them closer to the cliff’s edge, to the rush of water beneath them. 

 

“Yield, you foolish girl,” he says, “before you destroy us both.” 


	4. Dreamsicle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Dreamsicle" (50s AU)

Ben Solo was “just the dreamiest”. 

 

That was the general sentiment around town, anyway, giggled into crisp white gloves, whispered over double malts at Maz’s soda shop, sighed in soft feminine voices as the tall, dark and handsome scion to the prestigious Skywalker family swaggered down the halls of the local high school, black leather jacket swung over his shoulder.

 

Rey grimaced every time he walked past, that disdainful smirk forever twisting his lips over his goatee (never clean-shaven, that one, _so scandalous,_ so dangerous). 

 

“Mm,” Jessika noted appreciatively, adjusting her sweater and watching Ben with an appraising glance. “He’s not one to bring home to mama, but I wouldn’t mind sneaking out to a double feature with him.” 

 

Rey rolled her eyes and shut her locker. “He’s been through half the girls in the senior class, Jess. Not to mention the switchblade incident last year. He’s a grade-A jerk.” 

 

“But a _cute_  one.” 

 

“Ugh. Hard to believe a good family like the Skywalkers would end up with _that.”_ Rey clutched her books to her chest and started down the hall. 

 

_“_ You’re telling me you wouldn’t be just a _little_ curious if he asked you out?” Jess asked, nudging Rey’s shoulder with hers, her eyes glittering with mischief.

 

“Not if he were the last boy in the _galaxy_ ,” Rey muttered. 

 

And, she thought to herself, like the almighty _Ben Solo,_ whose tastes tended towards giggling girls with long eyelashes and too-tight sweaters, would even deign to _talk_ to a scrawny orphan girl with grease under her fingernails and a wardrobe that consisted entirely of twice-mended skirts and dungarees. 

 

Not in a million years. 

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re late,” a gruff voice called from the front office, and Rey rolled her eyes affectionately as she hung her coat. 

 

“School, Chewie,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest as the burly man emerged by the counter. “What’ve you got for me?”

 

Chewie grunted, quickly flipping through the battered clipboard in his hand. “Not too much. Two oil changes, a bad fan belt… and _that_.” He gestured to the car in the closest bay, and Rey’s eyes widened as she looked through the shop window. 

 

“A brand-new Thunderbird?” she gaped. “What could possibly be wrong with it? That thing barely looks like it’s been off the lot for a week.” 

 

“Bucking, apparently.” Chewie sighed, leaning up against the counter. “Might just be a faulty spark plug. Probably nothing major, but he _insisted_ we look at it today. Would have given any other kid a quick box around the ears, but since it’s Han’s boy…”

 

Rey felt her stomach clench. “Han? Han Solo?” 

 

Which would mean…

 

The bell at the front door chimed loudly, and a million years was apparently a lot shorter than she’d thought as Rey suddenly found herself standing stock still with Ben Solo staring right at her. 


	5. Dead Reckoning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Dead Reckoning"

Kylo’s saber crackles in his grip as he raises it towards her: a challenge, a threat, a promise. 

 

“You don’t know what you’ve done,” he says, voice low and dark. 

 

Her master places a protective hand at the small of her back, and his dispassionate gaze burns his fallen apprentice through. 

 

“I won’t let you take her,” his former master says, and Rey falters, glances at him, turns the weight of her own saber over in her hand. 

 

“She was never yours to take,” Kylo hisses. “I won’t let you destroy her as you tried to destroy me.” 

 

He turns to her, feels the Force radiate from her in waves. The base is shaking, collapsing around them, but he will not yield. He will not leave without what he has come for. 

 

“You did not come alone,” his former master notes, standing tall beside Rey. “I can feel the darkness in you.” 

 

“Not anymore.” Kylo straightens, adjusts his grip on his saber, and takes a deep breath. 

 

There’s a sudden presence beside him, strong and steady, and he’s breaking but he tries to siphon some of the presence’s latent calm. 

 

“I can’t,” Kylo manages, casting a desperate glance at Rey across the distance. “Uncle…”

 

Luke places a firm hand on his shoulder, squeezes. “Show me that you are no longer what he tried to make of you, Ben.” 

 

Snoke is smiling at them, a dark, unpleasant thing as one hand wraps around Rey’s slender throat, her robes shadow-dark and illuminated in the red glow of her saber. 

 

Somewhere, deep inside, he feels a soft brush against his consciousness, in that same shadowed space where the light hides within him. 

 

_Together?_

 

There’s light in her eyes. He can see it even here, even across the distance, muted and dimmed but _there._

 

A sob rises in his throat, and he feels a tender brush through his mind, Force-fingers entwining with his. 

 

_Together,_ he affirms. 

 

He rushes forward as Rey slides back, their sabers ignited, flashing bright, as they turn and face the darkness side by side. 


	6. Always In Threes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Death comes in threes."

It starts with the death of Ben Solo. 

 

It’s as dark and dramatic as the boy himself, ragged saber light and lashing storms, flames licking high through Luke’s fallen hopes as he stares down his uncle from the shadows and Kylo Ren rises from the ashes. 

 

Death haunts his footsteps, and he carries it with him. He is indiscriminate, grasping, seeking to fill the empty thing inside him that Snoke had promised the darkness would sate. It never does. 

 

Maybe it’s because there’s just a fragment of Ben left, a whisper of light, some gossamer thread of _goodness_ left behind.

 

His saber pierces Han Solo’s chest, severs the thread.

 

Two down.

 

Death comes in threes, they tell him, a superstitious thing, and he wonders at it sometimes, what the third death will bring. That vile Hux, his ship torn asunder, body broken and left to the stars? His uncle, struck down and sent to be one with his beloved Force, his failure total, complete? 

 

Or will he meet his own death on another battlefield, far from here, find his end in angry, flashing eyes and spry limbs, the pulse of her burning deep in his blood as she strikes him down?

 

(Oh, how he’d welcome the chance to bleed for her, beautiful, wretched girl.) 

 

He’d never have placed her as the third. Never. Would have torn his flesh from his bones to stop it if he’d thought it meant that his breath stilled instead of hers.

 

The dreams come, shadowed and heavy, and he knows her death is coming. He wakes trembling, gasping, shuts down the curious tendrils of her Force signature and won’t let her taste the fears he screams into the night. 

 

In the dreams, he is always the cause of her death. 

 

He cannot bear it. 

 

But when he meets her on the battlefield he recognizes from his dreams, steels himself and lets himself whisper dark, filthy, adoring things to her through their bond, the scene shifts, _changes_. 

 

The knights charge, one by one. She’s dark-eyed, ferocious, and she attacks like a wild thing, severs limbs, slices through chests. 

 

He watches, waits. She is glorious, humming-dark, blood-stained.

 

At last, they are the only two standing. 

 

She stares at him over the bodies, breathing hard. There’s a smear of blood over her cheek, and it drips along the dark grey fabric of her robes. 

 

She raises her saber to him in one trembling hand, and he prepares himself for this, the end of them both. 

 

Then:

 

_Teach me what you know._

 

Her eyes flash fire and hold him whole, and he chokes on the Darkness that swirls around her. 

 

He holsters his saber, takes her face in his hands and kisses her. 

 

She tastes of blood. Of death. 

 

They leave together, the bodies of his fallen knights left to the rain, and the girl who was Rey beside them.

 

* * *

 

 

Months pass. 

 

The darkness between them grows, builds. 

 

But there’s a thread of light — his, hers, they can’t tell anymore, there’s so little to distinguish them.

 

But it’s there, a burning tendril between them, when they fight, when they make love, when they battle for dominance and salve each other’s wounds after another visit to the Supreme Leader. 

 

It’s Snoke’s folly, when he tries to separate them, his dark apprentice and the girl who squeezes his heart in her bloodied hands. 

 

One more death.

 

A dark one, a difficult one, and they breathe hard, shaking, wounded as they holster their sabers over their Leader’s corpse. 

 

Death comes in threes, they say. He’s weak, feels himself falling.

 

But then her arms are tight around him, lifting him up, and there’s a fire in her eyes that he hasn’t seen in so long. 

 

They burn with _light_.

 

“ _Ben_ ,” Rey says, presses her forehead to his temple and helps him stand. 

 

“ _Let’s go home.”_


	7. Color Commentary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt/inspiration: "#This is the AU I’ve always needed#Literal sports commentator Kylo forgetting his actual job#and spending the entire game just raining praise on Rey#and making everyone uncomfortable" 
> 
> This is directly based off my figure skating AU, "Blades Crossed": http://archiveofourown.org/works/8990419/chapters/20541484
> 
> (You should probably read that before you read this or you'll likely be hopelessly confused.)

The thing about sports commentator boxes outside of professional sports is that they are relatively small affairs. Wires and equipment everywhere, with enough space for a handful of bodies for the play-by-play and color commentary.

 

This, Dopheld Mitaka has gotten accustomed to in his four years covering the Coruscant Ice Warriors. Small spaces, oversized earphones, hunched over the mic, clip-on tie askew and off-brand coffee. Part of the job.

 

The hulking presence next to him is. Well. Less so.

 

Mitaka feels dark eyes watching him, and his fingers are unsteady as he begins the transmission. “Good evening, all you Ice Warriors fans out there watching our livestream!” It’s his broadcaster voice, easy and practiced. “We’ve got an exciting match-up tonight, with our Warriors facing the Hoth Hellhounds as they return home after a pair of nail-biter road wins.”

 

Dark eyes still boring into him, dark brows furrowed, burly arms crossed across a broad chest in clear annoyance.

 

“W-we definitely saw some great play from the team in Wednesday’s game, with the blue-line really putting in some hard minutes against some of the league’s top-scoring forwards in their win against Naboo…”

 

There’s flop sweat between his shoulderblades, and he can swear the man is trying to light him on fire through sheer will and disdain.

 

“… _but_ the real highlight was of course the return of the Warriors’ own Rey Kenobi, after a four-game absence due to an undisclosed lower-body injury. Kenobi posted three goals in this week’s game and is on-pace to regain her status as top league scorer before the month is out.”

 

Mitaka shoots a wary glance at the hulking man beside him, who gives him a firm nod and settles his broad form more easily into the folding chair that seems almost comically small beneath him.

 

“And, uh, speaking of Rey Kenobi, talk about a comeback story. Longtime Warriors fans will remember the fiery forward’s seemingly career-ending concussion and her subsequent foray into the world of figure skating. Speaking of which…” Mitaka signals to the man beside him. “…we’ve got a surprise guest with us in the box tonight to offer his take on tonight’s proceedings: Kenobi’s former skating partner and national skating superstar, the one and only Kylo Ren!”

 

“Thanks,” Kylo says. He leans forward, shoulders squared, forearms settling against the table as he looks out at the ice. “You guys can’t see too much of the skaters themselves from up here, can you.”

 

“…well, uh, it’s important to be able to see the entire…”

 

Kylo offers him a dismissive wave, squinting down at the ice. “I can see Rey practicing. You can stop talking now.”

 

“I… uh. Okay.” He’s distracted, and Mitaka takes the opportunity to rattle off the evening’s roster and stats, only to once again find himself confronted by a too-dark and too-close pair of eyes glaring down at him.

 

“You mentioned Rey _third_. Explain.”

 

“…well, uh, first there was the starting goaltender, then the captain, and then…”

 

“She’s _not_ the captain? Why? Whose decision was that?”

 

“…Mr. Ren, I honestly have no…”

 

A disgusted huff, the sound of a too-small chair creaking, and Mitaka leans as far away as the small space permits and swallows hard. “And, uh, I see the starting line-up taking position and it looks like we’re just about underway here. I have to say, Mr. Ren, I’m surprised they didn’t ask you to perform the ceremonial puck drop.”

 

Those eyes again. “… _why_.”

 

He feels like he’s choking and his tie isn’t even real. “Well, uh, it’s not every day the league has a figure of your caliber stopping by. It’s a momentous occasion.”

 

Kylo smiles then, and Mitaka stares at the openness of it, the light that seems to enter those deep-dark eyes.

 

“Hardly. Rey’s _always_ here.”

 

Mitaka finds himself smiling a little in response; it’s a startlingly sweet comment from this hulking beast of a man, damn near saccharine, and he remembers all of those tabloids his boyfriend keeps strewn around the apartment, the ones that still carry puff pieces about Kylo Ren and his fairytale romance with his former skating partner…

 

He’s almost besotted (he’s such a damn romantic at heart, he can’t help himself, really, and they _did_ look good together), distracted to the point that he realizes they must have dead air and he  _scrambles_ for the mic…

 

…only to be roughly batted away by a _very_ large hand, dark eyes not even glancing to him as they stare out to the ice.

 

“There’s some commotion at that side of the rink. It doesn’t matter because Rey is skating up the ice. The man to her left hit that other man into the glass. Neither of them are important. Look at that crossover skating, Mitaka. Effortless. She could spin the world into stars beneath her skates.”

 

“…Mr. Ren, she _doesn’t have the puck,_ she’s…”

 

“…passed it to someone else. Yes, I see. He’s skating. Dully. There’s another skater doing something. Artless, all of them. You enjoy this?”

 

Mitaka clutches at his earphones, leaning up against the table and angling desperately towards the mic. “…and I think that’s… _yes_ , Dameron has the puck, skating up fast with…”

 

“Why aren’t we talking more about Rey’s skating? Look how fluid she is. Keeping her head up, straight ahead, there’s my girl. Beautiful.”

 

“Mr. Ren, she’s just _skating to the bench_.”

 

“ _Beautifully._ You can’t teach that, you know. That glide? Instinct. Pure instinct.” There’s a low growl in Kylo’s throat, something raw in his eyes as he looks down at the ice, and Mitaka is pressed up so far against the sound equipment he can feel EQ knobs digging into his spine.

 

Kylo huffs, leaning back in his chair. “So now she just sits on the bench? Pointless. She should be skating.” He glances down at the ice. “Oh, and I think that one man scored or something. You should probably mention that.”

 

Mitaka muffles his scream into his tie.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s a hardscrabble win, 3-2, but a win just the same.

 

(Rey doesn’t score but records two assists. Kylo attributes this to her selfless nature and spends ten minutes in the third period discussing it at length. Mitaka keeps a running tally of sponsors to send apology letters to.)

 

They go rinkside after the game, because the gods are cruel and it’s impossible to strangle yourself with a clip-on.

 

He passes a handheld microphone to Kylo, who seems oblivious to everything except the girl skating over to them, all sweaty hair and smiling eyes.

 

“Rey, great game out there tonight,” Mitaka says. “Can you talk about the assist you had on Finn’s goal? Beauty of a one-timer you—“

 

“He’s been like this all night,” Kylo interrupts bluntly. “How do I make him stop?”

 

“Kylo, he’s the _commentator._ ” Rey sighs and offers Mitaka an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. He’s new to the whole ‘being an actual person’ thing.”

 

Kylo scoffs and rolls his eyes, but there’s a warmth to it, and to Rey’s answering smile.

 

Mitaka coughs awkwardly. It feels intimate between them, somehow, but he _does_ have a job to do. “And the second assist: you’re down a man, penalty’s expiring, Dameron comes out of the box and you’re there to…”

 

“You didn’t score.” Kylo leans forward against the boards, strokes back a curling tendril of Rey’s hair escaping from her braid. “You’re not disappointed, are you?”

 

“Of course not. It’s about the team, not me.”

 

“You’re more important than the team.”

 

“And this is why you suck at team sports, champ.”

 

Mitaka starts as Kylo _laughs_ then and pulls Rey into a tight hug over the boards, nosing at her temple. He clears his throat, tries again. “Your next game’s not until Wednesday. Are you looking forward to having some rest time, especially after your…”

 

“ _Kylo_ , I’m sweaty and gross.”

 

“I don’t care.” A low chuckle, an answering grin. “I’ve had you like this before. On _and_ off the ice.”

 

“Kylo, I swear to God if you make a comment about ‘scoring’ tonight…”

 

And then they’re kissing, messy and passionate, all grinning laughter as Kylo easily hops the boards with the grace of a practiced skater and dips her, skates and padding and all.

 

It’s ridiculous and heartwarming all at once, and Mitaka weakly switches off his mic and tosses it behind him, unclipping his tie and searching his memory for the Friday drink specials at the campus bar.

 

Kylo raises an eyebrow at his retreating form, reluctantly pulling from Rey. “…very strange man. Not very good at his job. Didn’t even mention the beauty of your chasses _once._ ”

 

“Mm. Want to see them for yourself?”

 

Mischievous sparkling eyes, an answering growl.

 

(Later, Rey scores three times.)

 

(Kylo has all three assists.)

 

(Mitaka considers a career change to dentistry.)


	8. The Only Exception

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "You are the only exception."

Rey has faced death so many times. In sun-baked, scuttled starships, broken transparisteel raining down around her. In the Sinking Fields, when she was young and her footing was careless and the earth itself seemed to drag her down. On the coldest nights, after a failed day of scavenging, six seven eight days with no portions and her stomach screaming in want. 

 

But Rey of Jakku would never have dreamt of it here, rain-soaked and cold (water, so much _water_ , and she’d never thought it could be so very cold), on her back in the mud with a black-clad knee pressed hard to her sternum and a crackling blade at her ear. 

 

And yet she is calm, somehow, even with her saber flung far out of reach, Luke still engaged with the other Knights of Ren, and Kylo Ren looming over her, this hulking creature who seems to _breathe_ darkness.

 

Maybe it’s a counterpoint to how calm he is _not_. He’s breathing hard, flushed, hair disheveled. His scar is a livid slash against his pale, rain-slicked skin.

 

He is silent, outwardly.

 

Inside, she hears him _screaming,_ and even through her calm she trembles.

 

“Do it,” she says, manages even as he presses down harder. 

 

The blade wavers in his hand. 

 

And she’s _angry_ , that this beast of a man would falter _now,_ with her beaten beneath him. “ _Do it,”_ she yells into the lash of the rain, and she feels him start. “You’ve killed how many, now? You’ve no regrets about killing them, killing your _father_ , killing _everyone_ who felt the Force.” 

 

Her calm wavers in the face of his darkness, and she pushes up, brings her face close to his and bores her gaze into his, accusing, angry, pointed.

 

“So _why won’t you kill_ **me** _?”_

 

He’s still faltering, weak, and Rey growls, calls her saber back to her one-handed and _moves_. 

 

And they’re slotted back together, saber-to-saber, red to blue, gazes dark and teeth bared as they _fight._

 

She barely hears it, a soft thing, registered deep at the back of her mind next to the painful pulse, the push-pull somewhere between light and dark where his Force signature wraps around her like a clinging vine, suffocating, tight. Desperate.

 

_You, Rey,_ he says, whisper-light, and she nearly loses her footing, falls against him. _You are the only exception._


	9. Dark Side Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Smuggler!Ben and Dark!Rey in a modern AU"
> 
> (T/M for a few minor sexual references)

The old mechanic’s shop always smells the same: cold steel, washed concrete, and that sharp tang of gunmetal that seems to hover in the air, foreboding, warning.

 

It’s the type of thing you only have to smell once to have it imprinted on your memory.  

 

Ben grunts and hoists the heavy backpack over his shoulder as he steps into the shop, sighs at the empty space behind the counter. It’d taken him a solid week to finally track down Teedo and make the delivery, half-breaking the oily little man’s arm when he’d tried to weasel out of the agreed-upon price.

 

Maybe he’d been able to sweet-talk his way out of the slums of Jakku, that one, but Ben Solo _always_ got paid.

 

“Plutt!” he yells, hoisting the bag up onto the counter and trying to peer into the back room. “Get your fat ass out here!”

 

“Just me today, Ben.”

 

_Oh_ , that sweet voice in that crisp little accent. Ben’s lips twist in a slow grin as he turns and damn if she isn’t selling it today, the little viper: crop top flashing a tantalizing strip of belly, black shorts tight and high, all swaying hips and clicking heels and painted lips.

 

“Knew I was coming, I see,” Ben says as she lifts the countertop door and ducks under it, admiring her legs. “Rey.”

 

Her eyes are smoky-dark, and she rolls them as she reaches for the bag and pulls it across the counter. _Mm_ , she’s been lifting, he can see it in the smooth lines of muscle and her arms are just so _toned_ …

 

“Stop staring,” she bites, voice familiarly-cold as she neatly extracts the rubber-banded stacks of hundreds. “I didn’t do this for you.”

 

“Liar.” It’s soft and his eyes are too as he leans across the counter, grins as she swats away his hand.

 

“Teedo pay you in full?” Rey’s voice is crisp, closed-off as she feeds the bills into the currency counter.

 

“After a little… persuasion, yeah. You’d think he’d know better than to try to cross the Empire at this point.” Ben leans across the counter, tilts Rey’s chin up with two fingers, and she finally relents, meets his eyes over the shuffling of bills. “Should take you with me, you know. They’d do anything the first time you gave them that look of yours.”

 

She glares at him.

 

“Oh yeah, that’s the one.” He winks at her and releases her chin before bracing his arms against the counter. “They ever plan on letting you out of here for anything other than those fancy parties you’re always going to?”

 

“Donors and patrons are important,” Rey says shortly. “ _I_ am important. I’m the…”

 

“Heir to the Empire, face of the organization after your grandfather’s death, I know.” Ben ignores Rey’s annoyed glance as he easily hops over the counter, backs her up against the far wall. “You still have to live a little, _sweetheart_.”

 

His arms are braced on either side of her, but he’s not quite caging her in, knows better than to get too close; he has scars on his ribs from this one. 

 

(Scars on his heart, too, but he’ll forever hide them behind a pint of whiskey and a slow-rolling grin.)

 

“Smuggling’s living, is it?” There’s mockery in those dark eyes, the faint twist of a smirk. “You want me to lower myself, take up on that ugly-as-hell bike of yours and make drop-offs with you?”

 

“Yeah.” Ben laughs, softly, leans down to nip at her ear. “You can be my old lady. I’ll get you a leather jacket, pay for you to get my name tattooed.”

 

Rey raises one delicately-arched eyebrow, and he can see she’s struggling not to laugh. “And where exactly would you want it?”

 

He can feel her hips roll, and it’s everything he can do not to dip his hands lower, to every part of her he’s already tasted, the parts he wants to brand as _his_ , when she’d finally yielded last week and those ruby-red lips had taunted so prettily — _don’t you waste my time, Ben Solo, I bet you’ve never even pleased a lady, have you_ — before he’d flung her back against the counter and ate her out until her taunts turned to moans and breathless screams.

 

Ben glances down at Rey, the rise of a flush to her cheeks, and she must be remembering, too, as she slips her hands into the back pockets of his jeans and pulls him against her, tips her face up to meet his. “Not supposed to taste the product,” she murmurs as he leans down to kiss her.

 

She tastes like lit matches and sin. Sharp. Dark. “You saying you own me, Rey?”

 

“Of course I do.” She’s haughty and wild, eyes dark as she squeezes his ass. “Tell me another girl touches you like this and I’ll send you her severed head before nightfall.”

 

She surges up and kisses him harder, tangles her hands in his hair, but he gently pulls back, sets her down on her feet and moves away, thumbs at the smear of red lipstick across his mouth.

 

“Ben?” Rey asks, peers up at him and straightens her hair with one hand. “What is it?”

 

“Have dinner with me,” he says, quietly.

 

Rey frowns. She says nothing as she moves back to the counter, bundles up the thick stacks of bills into a nearby lockbox. “You know I can’t.”

 

“You won’t.” It comes out harsher than he’d meant it, but the words hang between them, sharp-edged, blunt. “You’ll let me fuck you in the shadows but God forbid if I want to hold your hand.”

 

“Fuck off, Ben, you _know_ I have to be the face of the Em…”

 

“Right, and everything’ll go to shit if the underworld of Coruscant finds out that Rey Palpatine likes a rough fuck from a smuggler, right? Let alone that she might actually _care_ about someone.”

 

She glares at him, all kiss-stung lips and disheveled hair, and God, he hates that they always have this fight but he hates loving her so fucking much worse, hates that she can never bring herself to admit she loves him, too.

 

Ben pushes past her and ducks under the counter.

 

“Where are you off to now?” Rey’s close behind him, just far enough away that he can’t quite reach her.

 

“Canto Bight,” he says, takes the empty backpack from her and tries to ignore the jolt he feels as her fingers linger on his wrist. “Plutt’s arranged a major sale that still needs a few details hammered out.”

 

Rey frowns. “Canto Bight is dangerous. Plutt moreso. You be careful.”

 

Ben manages a half-grin, reaches out and chucks her lightly on the chin. “Afraid I won’t make it back this time, sweetheart?”

 

He expects her usual haughty disdain, schooled arrogance. Instead she stares at him dead-on, and he feels pierced through by those dark eyes.

 

“I’m always afraid you won’t make it back,” she says finally. Her gaze doesn’t waver. “Every single time.”

 

It’s quiet between them for a moment. Rey reaches out with tentative fingers and traces them over the scruff along his jaw.

 

“I’ll come back,” Ben says softly. “One day maybe I’ll even hear that you want me to.”

 

He leans down and kisses her, lets her cup her hand around the back of his neck and thread her fingers through his nape. “Take care of yourself, Rey,” he murmurs against her lips, presses his quickly to hers in one brief, final kiss. “See ya.”

 

It’s hard not to look back, to see if he might finally see yearning and love in those dark eyes, see the answers to all of the questions he’s asked her.

 

But she’s steel and concrete. Unyielding. Cold. Steadfast.

 

Unless…

 

“…Ben.” 

 

He half-turns, one hand on the door, the bell jangling brightly above him. 

 

Rey doesn’t move, her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she doesn’t quite meet his gaze.

 

“Come back to me or I’ll kill you.” 

 

Ben grins at her, and for once, it’s real. 

 

“Always, sweetheart.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm fortunate enough to receive prompts on Tumblr from time to time; these are the resulting fills. Much love to the Reylo family and to all of the awesome users who have sent me such creative ideas!
> 
> Drop me a line (or an idea!) on Tumblr: the-reylo-void.tumblr.com


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